


Mega-sonic

by epithetta



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithetta/pseuds/epithetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's amplified a thousand fold--that would be what happens when you try on a pair of Folklian earrings and you don't have the extra ear canals, Jack says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mega-sonic

**Author's Note:**

> Written utilising the writerinadrawer prompt 3.05: Unintended side effects with an additional side of "advice a mother would give". 700 words. Thanks to sanginmychains for the beta.

It's distressingly easy to hear everything, she notices as she stumbles from her old bedroom and listens to the sound of her own breathing. It's amplified a thousand fold--that would be what happens when you try on a pair of Folklian earrings and you don't have the extra ear canals, Jack says—and now it's too garbled and filled with noises that she would rather not think about: the neighbours on the toilet, the fridge infinitely cycling, Rhys snoring in her brother's old bedroom, her parents—

Skin on skin and slick noises and the snap of a lubricant cap clicking shut and Jesus, he's inside her mother now, and they are at it like _cats_.

She has half a mind to pack up right there and go to a hotel, but she'd have to explain herself, she'd have to wake Rhys, and she'd have to live with whatever went on in the rooms all around her. For a second she wonders why she had even agreed to this, and then she remembers that her parents' house in Swansea is a damn sight more isolated than their flat in Cardiff; plus, she'd promised Rhys an overnighter, and her parents a visit.

But then her mother whimpers and her father says, his breath cracked and throaty, something that Gwen is sure she'd heard in a porno last year and oh, fuck, Jesus.

She hadn't wanted to go, not after the incident, with her ears still ringing and her skull reverberating with a buzzing noise, which she'd finally figured out was the Mainframe singing something harmonic and foreign. She'd sat in the med bay and ignored how Owen had made love to her with his fingers as he examined her to make sure that her brain wasn't, in fact, leaking from her skull. Then she's heard his cock stiffening in his pants, the rush of blood, and that had been that. She'd given Jack soulful eyes and wondered what the Hub sounded like when everyone left—Jack ricocheting around and the dinosaur screeching, and Ianto's tie sliding off and then--right. Off to Swansea, then. 

But now that she's here, and there's the slap of what she knows are her father's balls against—

It's easy to walk outside, strolling down the lane, and then even easier to walk down the road, still in her jim-jams, gun in her coat pocket, mobile in the other, _just in case_.

Owen's car meets her at the park where she'd given her first blowjob. The gearshift sticks and the engine gurgles and she hears the mice running for cover before he opens the door and steps out, his mouth already smug.

"Couldn't last twenty-four hours," he whispers, tugging at the waistband of her pyjamas. 

She shrugs, pulling him behind the slide and perching on the steps—the sand embedded in the painted metal grates against her bare arse, ready for this solid fucking that sounds so very familiar, Owen's lips on her neck and the leather of his jacket creaking loudly enough that she thinks it's going to wake Rhys five streets away. 

He toys with the earrings on her lobes, garish and _stuck_ for another forty-eight hours; his breath is a steam train. "You know what they say. Be careful what you wish—"

"Shut up," she says, and in her ears it is the bellow of a foghorn. 

Owen chuckles when he pulls away, licking her ear a little, twisted tongue.

In the morning, it's eggy toast and kisses on the cheek and tea to clear everyone's head. She watches through tangled hair as her father and Rhys wave goodbye, off to the match, and her mother settles across from her at the table, looking so normal that Gwen is hard-pressed to place the noises she'd heard in her mother's mouth. The image of her mother making her porridge for breakfast on school days, idyllic smile on her face, is whitewashed with a head toss back, loose hair, exposed throat moaning. Porno mommy. 

She'd just wanted to _hear_. 

"You had a late night, didn't you?" her mum says, spreading jam on a half a toast.

Gwen stabs the subject. "Walls are thin."

Her mother smiles. "I know."

END


End file.
